Basking
by Vialana
Summary: Yagami Light lived his perfect, boring, pointless life. And then he would dream.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Death Note featured herein.**

_My first foray into the Death Note fandom. _

_This idea just wouldn't let go until it was written down. It's kind of odd and something I'd been thinking about in regards to certain aspects of the supernatural elements of Death Note — especially in regards to the idea of the afterlife Death Note users were warned to expect._

_I don't really want to explain too much, hoping that most of what I wanted to get across happened within the story; so just read and enjoy._

_Warnings: kinda mopey and introspective, no real spoilers, but kinds of reference to generalities of the story ... I had intended it to be somewhat AU, but that sort of fell through. Oh well. No real loss.  
_

**Basking**

Yagami Light woke up to a grey world.

The bedroom was barely lit with the early morning sunlight a western prospect offered. Light sat up in bed and heard the familiar creak of his bedsprings over the persistent noise of his alarm before he turned it off. His mother called out to him for breakfast and he replied promptly, as was in his nature. He could hear Sayu stumbling her way down the hallway, probably yawning and not watching her feet as she got herself ready for school. His father had likely already left, if he had even been home with all the cases he had been handling lately.

Light sat up in his bed for a few moments longer than he would usually linger and stared out his window at the unchanged world outside.

It was all so … meaningless.

Light got up and dressed, preparing himself for the new day.

* * *

Sometimes Light dreamed.

His dreams — far and few between though they were — seemed more real to him at times than his life. Light held no illusions about himself — he knew he was an idealist, but he was still enough of a realist to know that some dreams honestly are impossible to realise. It didn't stop them or his relishing in them.

Sometimes there was no 'tactile' dream, so to speak. Light would suddenly be overcome with sensations of extreme emotion at the oddest times — emotion he had only ever experienced while breaking away from his life.

Such passion and determination. His own ambitions seemed dull when in comparison. He could hold the world in his hands and only then would he be sated. It was so powerful that sometimes Light would wake in a cold sweat, trembling with excitement.

And with fear.

For all his dreams were coupled with nightmares. Frightening images and inhuman laughter; emptiness colder and deeper than his life seemed at its lowest moments.

As much as he thrived on his dreams, he feared them — feared falling into them and never finding his way out from the darkness that even the brightest of those dreams had been tainted by.

And so Light would always wake up and the dreams would fade until they returned, as they inevitably did.

* * *

Light felt empty and restless, living day after day in monotony and boredom — in _nothingness_. There was no life, no passion, no challenge, just repetition and inevitability. Sometimes he almost wished he could be wrong, just for a chance to prove himself against his own ignorance, but each perfect score returned to him just made him want to rage and tear his hair out.

It was almost outrageous to get yet another perfect score on a test, to realise that even his well-educated teachers couldn't keep up with his thought processes and theories well enough to do more than marvel at his brilliance. Once, just to see what would happen, he put an intentional flaw in his reasoning for one particular essay — something minor on an almost worthless assignment — and waited anxiously for the result.

No one picked it up. He was praised for his ingenuity and well thought-out arguments and his use of relevant materials effectively and concisely. It didn't matter that his entire theory was flawed because of one tiny change; it was still _right_ enough for no questions to even be considered of Yagami Light's intelligence and dedication.

That was the moment Light gave up completely on ever having any of his dreams fulfilled. There really was nothing worth living for if, after having proven yourself, there was no chance to further your ambitions. People would roll over for you at the slightest gesture if they thought you were worthy enough. There was no challenge.

In the back of his mind, Light _knew_ there was more to strive for in life — that he shouldn't just accept that everyone would think he was perfect and there would be no more challenge for him. He knew this, but what he knew and what he could see before him were, and likely would always be, two very different things.

So he gave up. Let the world think him perfect, he could live up to that expectation. What would it matter if there was no real feeling or purpose behind everything he did? Feelings were pointless anyhow — completely superfluous and distracting.

He accepted his perfect score with a smile and moved on with his empty life.

The dreams returned after that.

* * *

So full, so lively — Light ached to feel more as he dreamed. His heart was beating, he could actually _feel_ it now; his mind was racing and his breath panting. Half the time it felt like he was in danger of dying but he relished in it. There was so much here that was absent from his life. Excitement, passion, challenge, determination, purpose.

It wasn't all him. There were others — people to honestly care about; people worth caring about; people who accepted him, confronted him, defended him, loved him.

And there was one …

Light clung to his dreams so tightly at times just to see _him_ again. Such deep passion hidden within a quiet monotone and beneath a lowered brow. It was as though he were the incarnation of all Light's forgotten and relinquished dreams, desires and ambitions. Every time he dreamed, Light remembered being so willing to give up his life just to stay in his fantasy with this person at his side.

When he finally thought this, the inescapable nightmare would always begin.

Light would find his hands stained with the blood of the one who could have saved him from his life. So slick and easy to obtain, as would be the rest of the lives to be consumed by his grasp. And Light would be laughing even as he was screaming until he finally found a way out and woke up.

The sense of loss after these dreams would always make him want to cry, but he never once did. Indulging in emotion wasn't something Light encouraged in himself, no matter how much he wanted to at times.

That was just how his life had to be.

* * *

New day, same life, continuous performance. Family. Home. School.

Light hated his life, hated being perfect, hated feeling nothing, hated that he knew the fact that this was all there was to existence.

He just wanted … _something_.

Light found himself running his thumb over his wrist — circling the joint in an invisible line as though he could still feel something there, hanging, weighing, _chaining_.

He wanted …

From inside his classroom, Light watched something fall leisurely from the sky.

To Light, it seemed as though a tone had resonated — church bells tolling — heralding possibility and, for the first time in his life, he smiled a true smile.


End file.
